ordinary people talk
by Senzafine
Summary: [AU] The rock band, Fenrir, is struggling to make it big in a world of high fashion, drugs and intense competition between rival bands. They might find the break they need in Cloud, a gifted singer with a troubled past.
1. interruption

_Rock isn't art, it's how ordinary people talk --- Billy Idol_

**Ordinary People Talk**

At night, Los Angeles becomes a hooker with cheeks painted in neon signs and lips the blaring sounds of sirens as they cut through the humid air. On the corner of Grand Ave and Hope Street, he swerved back and forth, his legs unaccustomed to the weight of his body, the heavy leather bag he strapped over his shoulders sinking into his skin. Slamming the beer bottle against the sidewalk, he grinded his heel against the largest shard of glass, smiling as he heard it turn to dust under his heavy shoes.

His face still burned with the slaps of his mother, his back stinging from the force of the shove down the staircase. Of course, it was a guarantee that his mother would not just scream but also, rush at him with raised fists the moment he told her.

A police siren made the streetlamp overhead flicker on and off and grinning, he raised a hand to wipe at the trail of beer that dripped from the corner of his mouth.

It was coming, he knew what they all expected of him, the bastard son of a poor woman and he knew that he broke his mother's heart. But what he wanted, he saw in the glimmer of the night sky above.

The stars were shining through the haze of smog in the air.

He hunched his shoulders and walked on, trying to erase the feeling of uncertainty that followed his drunken gait. Lifting his head to stare up and up at the sky, his sapphire eyes, red rimmed with the force of alcohol, never wavered though his footsteps did.

The stars were shining bright.

**interruption**

"Fuck."

He ran throughout his tiny studio apartment, putting on his shoes, jeans and a wrinkled T-shirt emblazed with the face of Bob Marley. It was already two o'clock – he fumbled through his pockets until he found the keys of his car and tripped over her stilettos, crashing against the tower of beer cans that dominated the kitchen table.

She didn't even lift an eyelid as he took one long look at her naked figure sprawled across his bed. He smiled, remembering the night before, and yawned again, trying to shake off the pangs of the hangover that already caused his head to throb.

With one last look at her, naked and sweating in the afternoon sun, he was out the door, a cigarette already perched against his lips.

The elevator was slow to hit the bottom floor, and waving to the desk attendant, he ran into the busy street, pushing his way through the throngs of people. It was going to be a hot day, just like every other day in the long LA summer.  
--

It was his grimace, the way his arms crossed over his chest and stared directly at the wall in front of him that made Cid knew he was in massive trouble. He awkwardly stood before the silent man with one hand on his head, a sheepish smile marred by the cigarette he kept in his mouth.

"Alright, fuck, I'm sorry, okay?"

He turned his head, his bright eyes staring directly at Cid's uncomfortable figure, his long black hair striking his pale skin. He didn't even respond, shifting from one leg to another as he watched Cid's face wrench itself into an angry scowl.

"WHAT THE HELL YA PROBLEM! I SAID I WAS SORRY!"

"What the hell you playing at, Cid?" Vincent turned, the curtain of his hair lifting off his slender shoulders and sat himself at the single stool in the small, cramped room. He crossed his legs, and placed his cheek on his upturned left palm, staring at Cid as he did so, "I sent her home. Not fair, making us wait."

"YOU DID WHAT?"  
"Four hours, Cid. Four."

He sighed, reaching out a hand to gently stroke the side of his guitar as it stood, proud and gleaming in its stand. "Fenrir isn't getting anywhere, especially with a drummer who's never here."

"Where's our singer, Cid?" Vincent pulled the guitar off its stand and placed it gently in the black case that sat by his feet. Cid lowered his eyes, unable to stare into Vincent's own crimson eyes. The sound of the zipper as it danced on the silence in the room was harsh against his ears as Vincent stood, his tall frame straight and unnaturally beautiful.

"What the fuck you getting at, Valentine?"  
"I'm out of here."

Vincent grabbed the cigarette out of Cid's mouth and placed it in his own lips, exhaling a cloud of smoke, like a snake, to curl around Cid's upturned face.

"VINCENT!  
"This was our dream once, Cid. Ain't nothing more."

He watched Vincent walk down the hallway, knowing, through years of friendship that once Vincent spoke, he could never be persuaded otherwise. Cid could feel the walls of the recording studio collapse around him, the weight of disappointment that came with the fading footsteps of his best friend.

"Fuck."  
--

"SHUT UP!" Her voice rose higher and higher as she slammed the pint of beer against the bar's counter. Cid watched her, knowing how angry she could get, how her crimson and honeyed eyes could glimmer with a deathly wrath. She was attracting the attention of the huddled men who sat at the end of the bar, her tiny waist and well-endowed measurements enough to distract Cid momentarily from the crisis at hand.

"WE CAN'T HAVE NO BAND WITHOUT A GUITARIST OR A SINGER!" Tifa let out a wail of despair as she lowered her face into her hands. "We were so close, Cid."

"Ya think I don't know that?"  
"What we do now?"

Cid let out a puff of smoke to linger over their heads, like hazy halos that didn't hold the promise of heaven. He raised one hand over his face as if to block out the sudden throb of his head, trying to forget the fact that perhaps if he didn't mess it up, Vincent would be here now, sitting by his elbow and telling Tifa to slow down. The bar stool to his left was empty and Cid felt that empty abyss even more sharply in every part of his body.

"He's gonna go back to our old band." Cid rubbed his eyes viciously, trying to wipe away the first happy strands of drunkenness that threatened to cloud his eyes. "Ya know how they always wanted him back. Got a contract and everything, those fucks."

"A contract? Something this shitty band can't give him."

"More than Tifa. Ya know how he is; full of piss and pride. We're just weighing him down."

"Do you think –?"  
"Not till we find us a singer, Tifa. Fuck."  
--

Tifa couldn't keep Cid walking straight, even though her arms were wrapped tightly over his stumbling body. After swearing at the fate of his life, refusing to pick up his cell phone after seeing it was Shera calling and downing five pints of beer, Cid half ranted, half cried over the fact that Fenrir was as good as dead. No matter what she said, he waved away her words of encouragement and banged his forehead over and over the bar's counter. It was enough of a ruckus to get them both thrown out of the bar, and into the humid net of the early morning air.

Just a year, and already the dream was gone. Tifa knew talent when she saw it, and what Vincent played each time he touched the guitar was wild and untainted. The grin of Cid's face that first day she met them both was wide enough to cleave his face in two. She wanted to be a part of this dream they had for years, and after hearing her play bass, Vincent nodded, just once to give his approval. The beauty of Vincent's skill and the energy of Cid's drumming could not hide the fact that Fenrir was nothing more but just a fragment of what could be.

It wasn't as if they didn't try. Singer after singer, man, woman, lured by the intoxication of being a rock star came, knocking on Studio 9A only to be sent away by a wave of Vincent's hand or a furious yell of Cid's. She never knew what they wanted, and in time, she finally realized that maybe this world wasn't for her.

The back of her legs were sweaty and for the fifth time tonight, she lifted her head to the sky and wished it would rain.

"Ya know what was so fucking retarded? He could have any fucking chick he wanted and then he goes off and fucks a teacher! A TEACHER! WHAT THE HELL! NO SHIT THAT ASSHOLE WAS GOING TO GET EXPELLED! Old hags – he fucks old hags when he can get any chick he wanted –"

Tifa sighed, trying as hard as she could to forget the drunken tirade of Cid. She knew well enough that Cid's anger was just a fragile mask that hid his devotion to Vincent. They were after all more then friends, but also brothers, marked by the same tattoo that curled up the left side of their ribs, curling a finger of permanent ink underneath their collar bone. She knew, from the tears that hugged Cid's eyes, that his anger was nothing more but a pathetic attempt to hide the sadness that plagued him.

It wasn't always this way, Tifa wanted to tell him, remembering the dinners they had on the floor of the studio, or poker night with Shera when it was too hot to play music. But after weeks of half-hearted practices, demos that were never completed, and jigs at small holes-in-the-walls, Tifa had already begun to regret the day she ever stumbled upon Fenrir.

He was so silent, just a shadow almost, that they were two steps in front of him before Cid fell out of Tifa's grasp and stumbled against his huddled self. Cid tripped over his sprawled feet and tumbled over the backpack he kept close by his upturned knees.

"Shit! CID!" Tifa hurried to grab a hold of Cid's falling elbow while at the same time shifting her glaze to stare at the crouched figure by the wall. "Sorry, my friend's an ass –"

Her words faded at the sight of his spiked blonde hair, shining with gel, and the blue fire of his eyes. Cid clutched her arm, happy and drunk to get a cheap feel of Tifa's bust underneath the black cami she wore, Her eyes widen at the sight of his face, and for once, she felt a surge of luck and happiness.

"CLOUD!"  
--

He swung his legs to settle on the counter of the desk before him, downing the last swigs of his beer. Happily laughing into the cell phone, he reached for her slender waist, drawing her to sit on his lap.

"You should have never left SHIN-ra. Cid's just a two-bit drummer, and you know it, Valentine!"

In his arms, Elena giggled, and reached up to caress the lapels of his suit, drawing her lips to taste the flesh of his neck. He let a hand cup the smooth, round cheek of her butt and felt his body grow hard against the soft of her laughing curves.

"Hollywood's calling your name. Call me when you get here."

The phone skittered across the desk as he lazily threw it, striking the wine glass that stood by the lamp. A puddle of red, looking like blood, spread throughout the desk as he stood, lifting Elena in his arms, pressing her back against the desk.

"Finally." He whispered softly as Elena's manicured hands started to unbutton his shirt, drawing off his suit jacket with practiced hands. She kissed him again and again as he crawled onto the desk, his knees spread and her writhing underneath him. She laughed as he gently sank his teeth against her neck.

"Stupid ass, leaving us like that." Elena ran her fingers through Tseng's hair, feeling the soft of his lips. "At last he's back."

Before he fell into her open hands, before her back made patterns out of the spilled wine, before their up and coming band, Je-Nova was the farthest thing from his mind, he placed his mouth near her ear and whispered softly again,

"It's your voice, Ele. It's magic."

**phrase: end **

_Author's notes: Alright, who HASN'T pictured the cast of FF7 as a rock band. I know I have, numerous times, especially considering the fact that I'm obsessed with the manga/anima NANA and the music of Kaikan Phrase. Of course, I thought if FF7 was staged as a rock'n'roll story, it'll be even more fun to have rival bands and interweaving love stories and all that goodness. Who knows how long and how much attention this story's going to get - but holy crap, its a ton of fun to write. :-) Enjoy. _


	2. sight & sound

She smelled the same way she did when they were in high school. It wasn't flowers, he couldn't stand the smell of flowers, and it wasn't fruit. Instead, she smelled of electricity and of musk, a scent that was almost sexual.

He couldn't help but notice the way her hair was exactly the same, how she kept it loose over her shoulders and bundled nicely at the end by a thick, red elastic almost a finger wide in width. He wanted to ask when she got that tattoo, a wolf's head that bared teeth on the small of her back but when he opened his mouth to ask, she leaned in and placed a lit cigarette in his mouth.

"It's good to see you again."

He smiled and gently removed the cigarette, grinding the lit end against her kitchen table.

"I don't smoke, remember?"  
"That's right."

She sat down next to him, running her hand through her hair, lifting the bangs that clung to her face with one easy gesture. Her apartment was a small room that was decorated in reds and purples, her favorite colors. She sat close enough that he could smell her and remember when they would skip gym together to drink and smoke behind the bleachers.

Even back then, he would not even take a drag of cigarette, content on swallowing his sorrows and boredom with the harsh ting of alcohol.

She was more beautiful then his memories.

"You should sing for us, Cloud. I like how you sound."

**sight & sound**

Her father warned her against talking to strangers. Of course, it didn't help that she was 17, about to graduate from high school and thought she was worldlier and more mature than her out-of-sorts father. When your father dresses in formal Japanese clothing while grocery shopping and taught Kabuki theater to a bunch of Jap-o-philes, it was hard for anyone to take you seriously. Maybe that's why she was so interested in apartment 607 and 602, each on either end of the hall.

She didn't know much, she wasn't ashamed to admit this, but she knew enough to know that whoever lived in 602 or 607 was it – the type of people she should be hanging out with, instead of nerdy Jessie with her thick glasses or her father's favorite, Palmer, that rotund boy who wobbled more than walked.

Today, as she walked by 607, her bag swinging by her side, she noticed for the first time that the door was thrown wide open and cardboard boxes lined either sides, like soldiers.

A little tinkling of bells was heard and turning, she caught the tip of a black tail as it turned the corner of the hall.

She was fast, with long legs that must have been passed on by her mother, who once floated over dance floors like a flower. Before the cat could run down the stairs, she caught the tiny animal in her arms.

"GOTCHA!" The cat hissed, and waved a claw towards her face and laughing, she turned to the open door of the apartment. She exhaled, sending wisps of her dark brown hair floating over her face and prepared to smile.

"Erm, 'cuse me? Your cat?"

The apartment was in a state of utter disarray, with overturn chairs and lamps wrapped in plastic, as stagnant as ghosts. The cat jumped from her arms and stretched, arching its back and sinking its claws deep into the side of the old, faded armchair.

Her father also warned her to not overstay her welcome, anywhere. That was one piece of advice she listened to, after years of getting yelled at and accused of being a pest. She called out a farewell and turned to leave the apartment when a shadow descended over her, darkening the patch of floor below her.

"Thanks."

Clothed in nothing more but a towel tucked securely against his waist, his brilliant red hair almost set the dim air on fire. She noticed the heavy rings he wore on both fingers because they glistened, shimmered in the weak sunlight as he bent over to gather the cat in his arms.

"Cute little bugger, huh?" He smiled and let his eyes settle on the crest of arms on her sweater vest. "Woah – You go to a school like that?"

With one quick hand, she reached to cover the insignia of her school, and quickly jumped back just to bump into the door, toppling a cardboard box with one failing hand. Pots and pans clattered and bounced their way across the floor, as she held up her other hand in embarrassment, trying to walk out of the door.

"Sorry bout that. Sorry." She saw him flash another lopsided smile, his green eyes flashing in the daylight that streamed from the half open window and tried to ignore the snicker of laughter that came from his mouth.

She ran down the hall, her bag slamming against her legs, taking the stairs two, three at a time. She ran to forget the sight of his green eyes that seemed to seize her in the abyss of their deep stare.

He watched her run, the slight of her body blending into the shadows themselves. He flinched when he felt the cat run its long tail in and out of his bare ankles and heard a deep voice sounding from the kitchen.

"You into high school kids, asshole?"  
"SHUT THE FUCK UP, RUDE!"  
--

He ate in circles, first tracing a rim of ketchup with the sharp prong of his fork and separating each of the piles of food on his plate into separate groups; first he pulled apart the scrambled eggs from the crackled pieces of bacon, and then placed a piece of toast at the far left-handed corner.

Her laugh was what made him stop, his fork halfway between his plate and his open mouth. He lifted his eyes to look at her, and once more, her breath was momentarily broken by the sight of his bluer than sapphire eyes, etched with dark lashes.

"What?" Cloud titled his head to stare at Tifa, who continued to laugh because breathing was proving to be too difficult for her.

"It's just funny, how you never change."

She kept her hands busy, pulling at the edge of her hair, her eyes looking everywhere except for the smooth landscape of his cheeks, the jagged edges of his high cheekbones. In the two years since she last saw him, time enough for her memories to betray her, his body elongated, and his chest filled. He wasn't just the boy who she kept close to her for memory's sake.

He smiled sheepishly, and jammed a forkful of food into his mouth, trying as hard as he could not to engulf his breakfast. It was the first time in days that he had so much in front him, cooked and waiting for him.

Sitting alone in an apartment like this, the way her shoulders leaned toward him, his bare feet barely skimming past her own and Cloud felt more alive than he had for years.

"Is it good?" Her eyes seemed to imply all the connotations of the question and quietly, he replied, one hand held to shade the glimmer of his eyes, "Yeah."  
"So, you want me to sing, Tifa?"  
--

He was silent, completely silent as he kept one hand placed against his left palm, leaning all his weight against his elbow. The folds of his chin and his shoulder meeting was barely enough to keep the cell phone he wedged there in place as he kept his crimson eyes staring at a patch of wall, frayed with peeling posters. All around him, he heard the bustle and the screams of passengers, the sudden rush of the train.

It was a voice that seemed to be of stone, but cast in gold. Steady and unwavering, and then glistening with the rise and lift of a countertenor. He could feel his fingers twitching, following along to the song, his hands plucking at imaginary strings and lovingly coaxing out the music that could accompany such a voice.

Instead, he sat, completely and utterly silent, forgetting the look of the woman who sat next to his table, her blue eyes staring deeply at his long figure, cutting a shape of elegance in such a dirty station.

The song trailed to silence and then, over the phone, he heard the piss of his voice, "SO WHATCHA THINK BOUT THAT, VINCENT?"

Like a reflex, Vincent's eyes hardened, forgetting the beauty of the song. He brought the phone close to his mouth only to hear the strain of Cid's voice once more.

"He's just a kid, man, but ya hear that? Fuckin' amazing."  
"You're lucky."

Vincent's smile was so solemn, it appeared as if he was frowning, yet the woman blushed fiercely, trying as hard as she could to keep her eyes focused on the bundles of papers scattered before her, her hands almost shaking at the sight of the alabaster of his skin and the raven of his hair.

"Vincent, come on. Ya remember what it was like with 'em assholes."  
"Cid."

He stood, and pushed back his bangs with one easy hand. "I'm sorry."

The phone fell from his hand into the open mouth of his pocket as he ran his arm through the strap of his guitar case, hoisting it onto his shoulder. He gathered the newspaper he was previously reading into one bundle and held his coffee with his other hand. He turned to smile at the woman again, noticing the length of her skirt and her long, manicured nails.

"Would you like my newspaper?"

Her cheeks were brilliantly red, and he smiled at the sight of her embarrassment, In the back of his mind came a taste almost metallic; it was the memory of Cid passed out on his living room floor, ripping apart his and Vincent's high diplomas in a drunken fit. Vincent tried to forget Cid and his curled up knees, the rise and lift of his voice when he told Vincent Shera was pregnant, with his baby, holy shit.

Friendship, Vincent prayed, had to be stronger than ambition. In time, Cid would understand.

"No, actually, I'm headed on this train."  
"Me too."

Her head barely reached his shoulder and he tried to ignore the thin band of solid gold on her left finger, flashing like a smile.  
--

"I can do it."

Cid lifted his eyes from the rim of his beer can, and studied Cloud's face. There was not a trace of doubt in his clear eyes, the blue of the sky and ocean both.

"Don't fuck with me, kid."  
"I'm not."

Cloud pulled his head back to empty a can of beer into his open mouth and quietly gulped down the amber liquid, wiping at the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. He was as light as Vincent was dark, the blond of his hair almost white in the overhead fluorescent light.

"If all y'all said bout Vincent was true, then I'm nothing close to him but still, I can play well enough –"

Her hand gently squeezed his fingers, underneath the bar's counter and away from Cid's red-rimmed eyes. He smiled suddenly, as if the sun broke across the calm sky of his face. "Until we find ourselves someone better."

Cid was quiet for just a moment, trying to remember what Shera told him last night, as he clutched her, trying to forget the sight of Vincent's scarred wrists and the fingers that seemed to melt to become a part of the guitar itself. His cheek was placed against the soft bulge of her stomach, his fingers gently massaging the tiny seed of life within when she spoke, the long edges of her hair gently covering his face.

"It's an old dream, but make it happen." Cid slammed a fist against Cloud's shoulder, as if in welcome.

"Alright, kid... welcome to Fenrir!"

Cid let out a yell of joy and called out for another round of drinks as Cloud turned to look at Tifa, her free hand lifting up to run gently through his hair. The silence of the long nights he spent alone and pawing for money was disappearing fast, leaving behind only traces of the hard asphalt in his mouth, ready to be transformed into song and light.

**phrase: end**


End file.
